


We Could Be Happy, We Might

by Figure_of_Dismay



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 09:20:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3723574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Figure_of_Dismay/pseuds/Figure_of_Dismay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ficlet from a prompt on Tumblr. Established relationship Lizzington in the not-too-distant-future. Liz had wanted children so badly for so long. Not for any reason she could easily say. But she’d given up on the idea when her normal life had fallen apart so completely and violently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Could Be Happy, We Might

...you might keep me,  
and not fault me for the pressed leaf  
of girlhood that I carry--  
if I could speak to you this way,  
if you could see past the measured temperament of your mid-less heart,  
see me as a bold and quaking thing,  
we could be happy.  
We might.  
\-- My Egg of Longing

*

Liz had wanted children so badly for so long. Not, as she was prone to telling others who seemed ready to scoff at such a desire in a career woman ripe for advancement in her field, to rewrite the sins of the past and the strangeness of her own childhood on the blank slate of her own offspring. Not for any reason she could easily say. She wanted children because she wanted them. She was lonely for the baby she would never have, for motherhood.

But she’d given up on the idea when her normal life had fallen apart so completely and violently. Her imposter of a husband was long gone as was the puppeteer who’d steered him there was gone too, but even after that first great storm of Berlin and Tom had passed her reality could never be what it once was. Not now, with Raymond and their uneasy happiness and the bleak horizons that awaited them as they both pretended not to notice, the idea of safety and stability was nothing more than fantasy.

She was miserable to him for two whole days while she fixated on the pharmacy test and began to tremble inwardly every time she’s nearly convinced herself to tell him. Finally, after watching her with worry and heaviness in his eyes, he stopped her before she headed out on yet another stress-relieving run and asked her very quietly what was wrong.

It was the look in his eyes that broke past her denial, the look of a man expecting to be let down gently. For all the bluster of the persona he wore while doing business, he’d shocked her by being so patient, so differential in their personal relationship. He never pressured or pushed. It was strange to learn just how dysfunctional her relationship with Tom had been when she realized what she’d been reading as vague disinterest from Raymond was actually simple respect. She still hadn’t convinced him, it seemed, that she wasn’t going to come to her senses and move on.

Looking up into his beloved face, straight on for the first time since she become wrapped up in the terror of her discovery, she knew she would never want any life but this, with him. Maybe it wasn’t quite healthy, being all things to each other — or as many as they could manage, lovers and confidants, figures of authority and caretakers in times of need — but he’d become necessary to her sometime in the midst of their struggles. She couldn’t even picture anything but this now. But how could they fit a child into all this?

“Elizabeth, you’re worrying me,” he said, reaching out to stoke her arm, and she realized she still hadn’t said anything.

“I’m pregnant,” she said, and took a deep breath, and started to shake.

“Oh, my dear,” he said, sounding hoarse and out of breath, and she didn’t know if that was good or bad.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said, and looked away, “I couldn’t even say… or it would be real. I — I don’t even know how to feel. What do we do? Please… what do we do?”

“I don’t know,” he said, and shook his head, looking dumbfounded, but she could barely see him, her vision whiting out with tears. He gathered her close though, and she could feel that he was shaking too, and she gripped handfuls of the back of his shirt and pressed her face against his neck and pretended he was going to lay out another of his farfetched but detailed plans that would make everything alright again.

She wanted so badly to hope but even the hint of it, the barest whisper, stung her lungs with impossibility.

“We can’t keep it, can we,” she whispered against his shoulder and she felt his breath hitch with the shock of it.

“We have some time,” he said, “We don’t have to decide anything right now… We shouldn’t while it’s still so—“

“The longer we wait, the more I’m going to _want_ …” she couldn’t even finish the thought.

She was suddenly too tired and too dizzy to speak, to do anything but retreat to a dark room and avoid thinking. She mumble an apology and hurried back to their room, feeling as winded and worn as if she’d run for miles, shedding her running tights and shoes at the bedside and diving under the covers.

She knew she was hiding. She didn’t want to hope, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

Raymond didn’t come to her for hours, or so it seemed as she passed the afternoon in a fitful doze. She awoke in the dim, grey evening from a diffuse dream of wandering an vast house with white rooms and fine furniture, all of them devoid of life, knowing that somewhere Red and an unknown, unnamed child waited for her if she could only find them. When she woke, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, stroking her hair from her face so gently she could hardly feel it. His calloused fingers were cool against her forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he sounded steadier than before, his voice strong and low and comforting, “I don’t want you to think I don’t want this, with you so very much. A family with you, Lizzie, would be…”

“I know,” she said. She shifted upright against her pillows and caught his hand between both of hers, stroking his smooth palm and the fine hairs on the back of his hand. “I know. It’s like being offered everything you’ve ever wanted when you know you can’t…”

He didn’t speak, but watched their hands together, waiting to hear what secret hopes she would express given the space and silence.

“One day you’re going to leave me,” she said, her voice wobbling ’til it broke.

“I won’t, Lizzie, believe me, I _wouldn’t,_ ” he tried to comfort her but she shook her head.

He didn’t understand what she meant, and she promised she would never, ever say it, that she never wanted to see that hurt bloom on his wonderful face — that if they never spoke if it it wouldn’t be true, and they could go and be as they were to each other forever. But now she had to and it felt like something cracking open inside her, a terrible fissure through the heart.

“You _will,_ ” she said, almost a wail and then she was crying, “One day you will. You won’t want to but you will. Twenty years doesn’t feel like much but it is, it could be, and you have a string of enemies a mile long. And don’t think that I don’t — I wouldn’t change anything, do you understand that, Ray? But one day _you will leave me. And then what will I have?_ I’ll be so alone and I don’t… So _I want this_ , I want this baby with you so much, so much, so that no matter what happens, we’ll go on in a way, and I know that sounds so selfish, _I know,_ and I need to talk myself out of it, I just —“

“Alright,” he said, and tugged at her hands, interrupting her, “Alright, Lizzie.”

“What ‘alright,’ I don’t understand,” she said, taking a hand away from his to scrub at her eyes.

“I mean, maybe we could make it work. We,” he cleared his throat and pouted in that way he did when he was trying not to show how emotional he was, “We would hardly be the first couple to have a baby in less than ideal circumstances.”

“I can’t believe we’re talking about this,” she said with a watery but jubilant laugh, “I can’t believe this is really real. What about the risk, we’d be insane to even consider it.”

“There’s always risk. When I came to you two years ago, the risks were terrible but look where we are now. Maybe this is what we need, maybe this is our chance at something better,” he said, and she could see the hope on his face too, the longing like a sunrise.

“Really?” she asked and at his nod she launched herself at him, fumbling with the covers, climbed onto his lap and hung on. She enjoyed his restless fingers against her back, through her hair. In a few months it would be harder to sit this way together she thought, and laughed with joy. “I guess it’s not like we don’t have the resources. Or like every other damn thing we’ve done has been any less insane,” she said, speculative, starting to believe.

He pushed her away just far enough to see her face clearly, “I don’t know about that, Lizzie,” he said, with that real, warm little smile he kept just for her, “I think the longer I’ve known you, the saner I’ve become.”

She hummed in agreement, “Me, too, I think. Didn’t feel like that at first though.”

“If you want this, we can do this,” he said quietly, trying to convince them both, “We’ve done impossible things before, after all.”

They agreed not to make any decisions that night, not to be hasty. But the next week he came home with a book of baby names and the week after that she asked for some time off, and the week after _that_ , they started talking about what country they might like to settle in for a few years, countries with good healthcare and early education.

A year later, a select few of their friends received greeting cards in the mail, with no return address, with a picture of an angelic, dark haired, green eyed infant in a pale linen dress on the front and the child’s first name and the simple message ‘ _We are happy. We are safe. Thinking of you,_ ’ inside.


End file.
